


Exotica

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Kemal Pamuk takes Thomas up on his offer, to Thomas' surprise... Light BDSM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exotica

Thomas had never imagined himself in this situation.

He’d hoped, of course, that Kemal Pamuk would be amenable to a liaison. Pamuk was beautiful in a way Thomas hadn’t seen in a very long time, and foreign, at that. Thomas had never been with a foreigner. He was dying to have a Turk, although he would never have admitted this to anyone (well, he would never have admitted anything, but he certainly wouldn’t have admitted this particular detail) to see if it was different to having an Englishman. All day, fantasies of male harems and passionate savages danced through Thomas’ imagination, exciting him to the point where Mr. Carson looked at the blush on Thomas’ neck and accused him of loitering in the sun.

From the moment Thomas brought Pamuk up to the guest room, Pamuk seemed comfortable with the flirting and the innuendo. So comfortable that Thomas accelerated his usual pattern of seduction. When Thomas put a hand on Pamuk’s cheek, Pamuk smiled. When Thomas leaned in for a kiss, Pamuk grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall, rattling a painting by his head. “Do you like to play?” Pamuk asked, pulling away from a kiss so rough and demanding it left Thomas dizzy.

“Play?” Thomas gasped. It seemed an incongruous question. _Perhaps,_ Thomas thought, _something was lost in translation._ “What do you mean? Cards?”

Pamuk looked at him, big brown eyes meeting Thomas’, staring at him unblinkingly until Thomas’ heart beat faster. Pamuk laughed, a short, sharp chuckle, and patted Thomas on the shoulder.

All of which had led, indirectly, to where Thomas was now. He shifted, the belt lashed around his wrists pulling painfully, and listened for Pamuk. It was impossible to look for him; Pamuk had tied a soft silk scarf over Thomas’ eyes. Really tied it, meaning Thomas couldn’t have shed it, or even peeked, if he’d wanted to.

In a way, he wanted to. He wasn’t used to this. Philip hadn’t gone in for it. The closest they’d come to…strangeness was when Philip, made heady by champagne and lust, had muttered, “Let’s do it on the rug.” They hadn’t, in the end. It had proved too hard on Philip’s knees.

Thomas had never done anything of this sort. He felt out of his depth, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Pamuk, to give him more power than he already had. And it wasn’t unpleasant, lying on a plush bed spread out like a Christmas goose, with his hands tied above his head and the scarf over his eyes. Another scarf was in his mouth, the sensation of the silk smooth and flat against Thomas’ tongue.

“How are you doing, Thomas?” Pamuk’s voice came, closer than Thomas had expected. Thomas gritted his teeth. His stomach was in knots tighter even than the ones Pamuk had tied, but behind the nerves was lust, enough to raise Thomas’ cock like a standard. “I see you are well.” Pamuk’s hand hovered above Thomas’ groin. Thomas could sense it, even if he couldn’t see it. But Pamuk didn’t touch him. Instead, Thomas felt a different sensation, something thin and almost sharp sliding down his chest to his stomach.

The first blow was light, across his abdomen. Thomas jerked, pulling his wrists hard against the belt and causing more pain. But not only pain. Just as anxiety and lust intermingled in his brain, pain and pleasure were both present in his body. It came again, on his thigh this time, another light blow of what Thomas now knew was the riding crop. Thomas’ erection twitched. “Harder?” Pamuk asked. Thomas hesitated, but only for an instant. He nodded.

Pamuk struck him again, and again, on the stomach, the chest and the legs. After half a dozen hits, Thomas’ cock was leaking. Half a dozen more and he was panting around the scarf, so close to orgasm that it took only a few strokes of Pamuk’s leather-gloved hand to bring him off. Thomas came harder than he ever had, stars behind his blindfolded eyes and the words, “Mr. Pamuk,” on his gagged lips.

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Mr. Pamuk muttered. In a flash, the blindfold was off. Thomas blinked, the sudden change from darkness to light painful to his eyes. “Now it’s my turn.”

The belt marks were obvious, even the next morning, and they didn’t quite disappear beneath Thomas’ shirt cuffs. Thomas saw Mr. Carson staring at his wrists over breakfast, although he said nothing. As Thomas loaded Mr. Pamuk’s and Mr. Napier’s suitcases onto the car, Lord Grantham observed, “Nasty marks you’ve got there, Thomas.”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid I burned myself helping Mrs. Patmore.” It was a flimsy lie, but Lord Grantham didn’t question it.

“That’s why men should keep out of the kitchen, eh?” He laughed at his own wit and moved inside.

It was Napier who caught Thomas’ elbow as they passed on the front steps. “Are you all right?” He asked, his voice low. Pamuk was already seated in the car, and seemed keen to get on. He hadn’t given Thomas a second glance while he dressed, and, when Thomas had tried to kiss him, he’d pulled away roughly. It had irritated Thomas, and embarrassed him, but on further reflection, that was as it should be. Better to end things now rather than drag them out. Thomas didn’t need another Crowborough on his hands. They’d had their fun, and now it was over. It was for the best. Thomas refused to acknowledge the shadow of disappointment lurking in the back of his mind.

“I’m quite well, thank you, sir,” Thomas replied, his voice cool even as a blush rose to his cheeks.

“Only I know he can get carried away.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you ever want anything a little more…romantic, you can come to me.”

Thomas committed the cardinal sin of a footman: he looked a guest in the eye. Napier smiled. “I’m quite boring, I assure you, but I do know my business.” He squeezed Thomas’ elbow, gently, and then he was gone.

Thomas stared after them. He couldn’t help himself. He watched the car drive away, until Mr. Carson came up and said, “If you are at loose ends, Thomas, I am certain I can find some way to occupy you.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, and shut the front door.


End file.
